Page 197 - B. Ing_Antologi Cerpen Xl-6

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the boy said, setting

the bundle down. “My name’s Leo. I found this in my
grandfather’s attic.”

Eliot gently unwrapped the towel, revealing a

small, ornate mantel clock with a cracked glass face and

a missing hand. The wood was faded, but the
craftsmanship was exquisite.

“She hasn’t ticked in years,” Leo added. “I don’t

know why, but I felt like she should.”

Eliot smiled softly. “Every clock has its

moment,” he said. “Let’s see what we can do.”

Leo came every day after school, watching Eliot
work. The boy was curious, asking questions about cogs

and escapements, and Eliot, for the first time in years,

found himself explaining his craft. Days turned into
weeks, and slowly, the old clock began to breathe again.

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